


Brilliant Bodies Disintegrate

by tartpants



Category: Death Note
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Cuckolding, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Male Slash, Manipulation, Mind Games, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Submission, Subspace, Voyeurism, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6328084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartpants/pseuds/tartpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"L gives Light flesh made fact. L is the wayward flock for him to tend -- he’s Lucifer, the dawn-bringer, delivering light back to Light. Put bluntly, L’s the one who keeps shit interesting."</p><p>Light and L love their games; L introduces Light to a few new ones, whether he's ready for them or not. In the end they'll fall together, then fall again, and again... </p><p>Please note warnings - this is basically graphic porn without plot, gussied up with poetic language, and some character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brilliant Bodies Disintegrate

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this after realizing that there were no Death Note fics tagged with "cuckolding," and after brainstorming with my girl Sybilius, decided to tackle that particular fetish in a story that combines a whole bunch of other kinky stuff. But it's kind of a love story underneath it all, too. Maybe. Or the only kind of love story that's possible for L and Light.
> 
> Title comes from a Rilke poem, which will make sense if you read through to the end.

 

**Brilliant Bodies Disintegrate**

  


Here’s how it begins: the slick glow of pornography, choreographed moans that lick at the air with soft kitten tongues, smacking of pink-on-pink kisses. Two women bounce like rubber on top of a dull-eyed man, their giant breasts the stuff of cartoons, heaving in a synchronized orgy of heterosexual fantasy. And L isn’t even heterosexual, he’s _Light_ sexual, and here he is anyway, staring at the laptop with arousal glazed over his eyes, the stony outline of his erection tenting his jeans. It’s enough to make Light laugh down the back of L’s neck, fingers clawing into L’s black-as-soot hair.

“This is what you watch while I’m not looking?” His nails rake into L’s scalp, like he’s going to cleave into the detective’s skull and set his brain right. “It’s so predictable, so boring.”

“It’s the top trending video on this site,” L says simply, leaning back into Light’s assault.

“No wonder it’s shit. Trends are shit, and the people who follow them even more so.”

“Are you calling me shit, Light-kun?” L’s voice is flat but hopeful. It’s one of their oldest, most favored games, Light berating him with his tongue first, then moving on to cruder, sharper weapons. He’s the perfect inquisitor, using words to warm the skin before striking it with leather or wood, his face a mask that never wavers with mercy.

“Yes.”

L rolls his head from side to side in Light’s cruel grip, nuzzling up to the promise of pain.

“I’m not interested in shit.” Light shoves him away, like L really _is_ shit, and L allows it, landing hard on his knees beside the bed.

He stays on the floor for the rest of the night.

Because dull detectives never learn, Light catches him again, this time watching _straight boy squirt_ : a video of two men barely out of their teens, palming each others cocks with dim panic swimming in their eyes. “I’m gonna -- I’m gonna shoot!” the older-looking of the two gasps with a mix of shock and pleasure, unspooling semen onto the other’s chest. L doesn’t even hear Light enter the room, too busy squeezing thick dribbles of precum from his own erection, jeans rucked stupidly around his ankles.

Light roars with silent fury, ripping the laptop off the bed and tossing it onto the dresser with a careless thump. “What the fuck are you doing?”

L lays back on the blankets, dick still held in a loose hand, his chest rattling with suppressed laughter.

“What?” Light demands. “ _What_?”

“You’re hard right now, aren’t you?” L’s chuckle is dark and knowing, made all the more insidious by the fact that he’s _right_ \-- Light’s erection is thick against his thigh, trapped by his trousers.

Light hates being off-balance, hates feeling control collapse in his hands like melting snow. Hates how good L is at turning all solid ground to sand -- hates, most of all, how much he wants to give in and fall over his head.

He unbuckles his belt and lets his trousers drop, then yanks L’s all the way off, lifting the other man’s ankles and hooking them over his shoulders. “You’re a slut,” he recites. “You’re a filthy pig.”

L digs his heels into Light’s shoulders. “I’m a filthy pig,” he echoes back, breath broken by arousal.

“You wanted me to catch you.” Light roots through the blankets until he finds the plastic bottle of lube L was using on himself.

“I wanted you to catch me.” L cracks with a slightly hysterical giggle that rearranges itself into a moan as soon as Light slides a slick finger into him, then another, twisting them together like a corkscrew. L rocks against the pressure, cock flexing against his hollowed-out abdomen with a wet sound that makes Light’s balls tighten. “Oh god, you’re gonna make me…” L lets out a shuddering breath and come jets up his stomach and chest in rough spurts. “Shoot,” he finishes with a pant.

Light laughs, fingers still working L’s ass. “That’s all it took? Slut.” He lets go of L’s ankle long enough to lube up his erection, his own palm as inviting as sandpaper.

“All it ever takes is you, Kira.” L’s voice is that maddening mix of teasing and truthfulness. “Only a _true god_ could make me come with a dozen thrusts of his fing --”

“Shut up.” Light sinks his cock into L, relishing the feel of the muscles as they reluctantly part and clench down on him. “You’re mine.” He levers his body over L’s, feeling the man’s knees quake faintly against his torso. Light slaps L’s pale cheek with a loose, open palm. “Mine.” Another slap, this time hard enough to leave a rosy mark, stark against L’s pale complexion.

“Yes.” L’s feet dig into Light’s lower back as he lifts his hips to meet Light’s slow but punishing rhythm.  

Light sucks in tiny, hot breaths through gritted teeth, marvelling at how tight L is, at how perfectly they fit together. He isn’t going to last long and he doesn’t care. L’s eyes are wide open and Light can see himself reflected in them, and that’s all he wants, to be the only drifting mote of significance caught in the umbra of L’s iris.

“Shoot for me, Kira,” L says, a whisper that grates across the skin of Light’s mind in a _frisson_ of longing. He spills himself into L with an orgasm so long and so hard that it's a wonder that he isn’t pulled all the way in, swallowed by this black hole of a detective who so effortlessly snared Light into orbit.

In the slow, sweet aftermath they’re too sleepy to play games, too softened by release. Light slips under L’s arm and listens to L read poetry, the words a comforting rumble in his chest.

Tonight’s poem is about watching stars race across the heavens like horses, and both the verse -- delivered in L’s raspy voice -- and the images wrap Light in a gossamer vision that feels like grace.

“I like that one.” Light doesn't often like poetry. “Who wrote it?”

“Rainer Marie Rilke.”

“I like it,” Light repeats, voice muddled with fatigue. “It sounds as if the stars are performing for them, doing their bidding.”

Neither of them ever say the word _love._ Love is what you say when you’re weak and wandering the desert, desperate for any trickle of affirmation.

“Yes.” L’s hand strokes Light’s hair, running it like silk through his fingers. It’s ironic that L is always the one to administer comfort, that Light is always the one who needs it. “But I like to imagine that the speakers also envy the stars. How daring they are, how unafraid to be destroyed.

“Mm. Nothing can destroy me.” Light presses his ear to L’s sternum, and beneath flesh and bone he hears the churning of L’s heart, the tide of air whistling through lungs. It’s like listening to a trapped ocean, waves rolicking with candy-colored fish and whales, and Light just wants to curl up and sleep inside the belly of a whale sleeping in L’s belly.

He drifts off on the raft of L’s body, giving the detective free reign to study the curve of Light’s eyelashes against his golden skin, his strong limbs gone slack with somnolence. Being a god is a desperate work; his very existence hinges on whispy things, like faith and belief. L gives Light flesh made fact. L is the wayward flock for him to tend -- he’s Lucifer, the dawn-bringer, delivering light back to Light. Put bluntly, L’s the one who keeps shit interesting.

That’s why, when they dress the next morning, L puts a finger to his lips and says: “Out of all our mutual acquaintances, who would you give me permission to sleep with?” It’s all as casual as asking Light what he wants for breakfast, rice or eggs?

“What?” Light fingers the knot of his tie. “No one! Obviously.”

L can see Light’s aura of panic, vibrating around him like the air just before an earthquake. “It’s just a hypothetical question. I enjoy thought-experiments.”

“No one.”

“I see. You don’t enjoy thought-experiments.” L pulls up the duvet and makes the bed as neatly as he can, all for Light’s benefit.

“Fine,” Light huffs. He can enjoy anything L enjoys. “Misa.” He smiles a little, like he’s just given L permission to fuck a cockroach. “You can have Misa.”

L shrugs. “In that case, I would have to pass.” And _of course_ Light offers L someone he sees as a tool instead of a person; someone Light staked a claim on first. Misa doesn’t even like L. Her face twitches delicately every time the detective is nearby, like she’s just had a plate of rotten meat thrust under her nose.

Still, that doesn’t stop L from leering at her the next few days, simpering at her with a sing-song _Misa-Misa_ , like a poor man’s Matsuda.

Light makes him take the _Misa-Misa_ ’s back by handcuffing L to a radiator, faint welts rising on his shoulder blades while Light fucks his mouth, thrusting his cock deep into L’s throat until L’s eyes are leaking, slobber stringy and dripping from his chin.

But L is nothing if not a masterful composer. The cameras are running while Light rains down fire, and Matsuda is scheduled for maintenance duty in the surveillance room.

After he’s free of the handcuffs, L rocks Light to sleep with tender caresses and William Butler Yeats.

 

_“When you are old and grey and full of sleep,_

_And nodding by the fire, take down this book,_

_And slowly read, and dream of the soft look_

_Your eyes hand once, and of their shadows deep;_

 

_How many loved your moments of glad grace,_

_And loved your beauty with love false or true,_

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,_

_And loved the sorrow of your changing face…”_

 

“I won’t ever get old and grey,” Light says, squeezing L’s fingers. “But stay with me, in case I do.”

This is what it is to be a god, L thinks. Testing the faithful with terror, collapsing in relief when they don’t abandon your mighty altar.

Once Light is asleep, L puts his clothes back on and wanders to the surveillance room, limping a little just for effect. Matsuda’s boyish face is white and stricken, written with new knowledge of Light, of L.

“Hi, Ryuzaki,” he squeaks.

“Matsuda.” L nods, then looks the computer monitors up and down. “What did you see?”

The question isn’t an accusation, but Matsuda reacts as if it is, blundering off his stool and ducking his head. “N-nothing! I wasn’t --”

“It’s alright.” L burrows his hands into his pockets. “I knew you’d be watching.”

“You did?” Matsuda’s eyes are huge and revealing. They remind L of Light’s eyes when he first wakes up and rolls over in bed, taking L in like he’s a dream that must be committed to memory, hair by hair, pore by pore. “Why? I mean -- do you need help?”

“Help?”

“Light-kun...it looked like he had you in handcuffs.”

“He did, and not for the first time.” L stretches his body taut and thin, lifting his left hand to massage the back of his neck. “Actually, you could help me with something.”

“Alright. What is it?”

“Follow me.”

L leads Matsuda to a vacant bedroom on the same floor as the surveillance room. The in-suite bathroom is fully stocked, and he rummages around the cabinets until he finds aloe vera gel and cotton pads.

“I have some burns on my back,” L says, setting the medicinal items on the nightstand next to the bed. “They need to be treated.” He pulls his tee-shirt off in one swift movement, balling it in his fist.

This orchestration isn’t artistic, it isn’t even neat. It’s cheap pornography, but there are cameras running and L hasn’t got all night.

“Um. Are you sure I should --” Matsuda falters, a gulp constricting his throat. L has seen that gulp before. Matsuda has looming, visible habits, and they tend to come out whenever he lays eyes on L or Light, or -- more particularly -- when he sees L and Light together. Even if they’re just standing in a doorway, arguing about L’s poor diet, if Matsuda is there he is bound to be watching, his adam’s apple jumping like a metronome.

“I’m sure.” L sits on the foot of the bed, bowing his head and staring at his bare feet.

“Alright.”

The aloe vera gel makes a suggestive, slurping sound as Matsuda squeezes a small amount onto a cotton pad. “Heh,” he laughs nervously. “Messy.”

He gently daubs the gel onto L’s back. L can see Matsuda’s face in the mirror over the dresser, and it’s pinched with clinical concentration.

“That feels good,” L says, allowing a hint of breathlessness into his tone. Matsuda’s hand wavers and he drops the cotton pad.

“Oh, sorry!” Matsuda bleats, chasing after the cotton.

L grips his shoulder, firm and decisive. “Leave it.”

Matsuda freezes, still in mid-crouch, eye level with L’s lap, where his cock has swelled to noticeable proportions inside his jeans.

“I’ve seen you watching us.”

“I didn’t mean any --”

“Matsuda, it’s alright.” L is massaging himself through his pants, and the other man’s eyes are wide and wanting.

It’s all easy from there. Easy as falling through clouds and ether. L spreads Matsuda onto the bed and peels off his clothes, one piece at a time, whispering gentle, careful words. Matsuda has the sort of sweet, innocent face made for breaking, the kind of face L wants to lovingly shove into a bottomless pit of depravity. But L keeps the symphony lighter than spun sugar because that’s what will make Light topple off his perch, streak across the sky like a displaced star.

“Matsuda, it’s alright,” L repeats, licking the inside of the other man’s thigh. Matsuda’s cock twitches against his cheek and L opens his mouth to take him in.

When Matsuda finally comes, he covers his eyes with both palms and lets out a high, breathy laugh.

 

Here’s how it ends: Light wakes up on an ocean of cool, empty sheets and there is no L for him to cling to, only the faint smell of chocolate and toffee, odors that turn acrid when not mingled with the scent of L’s smooth, powdery skin. Where is L? Where is Light’s faithful acolyte? Light wraps himself in a bathrobe and patters around the headquarters, which is a still, silent chapel at this hour. The only noise comes from the surveillance room -- low, musical voices like the first strains of a warming choir.

Light studies the computer monitors, and what he sees sends his heart whistling, as if it’s just been kicked off the summit of heaven and sent into free-fall. L and Matsuda are on a bed, wrapped up in each other. They are sitting upright on the rumpled covers, legs loosely twined around their waists, kissing long and slow, and L’s hands are carving new paths down the terrain of Matsuda’s naked back, and Matsuda is cupping the side of L’s jaw, and it’s all so tender and soft that it rakes Light up and down like a pitchfork.

It hurts and it’s horrible and the most horrible part of all is that Light is aroused, his cock almost standing up enough to part the fold in his robes.

Matuda has his face burrowed in L’s neck, and L lifts his head just long enough to stare straight into the camera lens.

 _“You’re hard right now, aren’t you?”_ he mouths.

Light doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry -- if he wants to destroy or _is_ destroyed.

Later, L finds Light sitting in the empty tub of their bathroom, robe pulled up to his chin like a quilt.

“What are you doing?” L asks. He’s wearing his jeans but nothing else, his nipples still pink from Matsuda’s teeth. It’s a sight that sends a throb of shameful arousal to Light’s groin.

“I’m in the belly of the whale,” is Light’s answering mutter.

L rolls his eyes a little, but has the decency to hide it. “Come on.” He takes Light by his hands and pulls upright.

“Do you know why I messed around with Matsuda?” L asks, arranging Light carefully on the bed, kneeling down before him and resting his chin on Light’s knee. It’s a classic gesture of submission, like a dog kneeling for scraps from its master, but of the two men, L isn’t the one wearing a leash.

“To teach me a lesson?” It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“Not in the way that you think.” L lifts his head, his eyes dark coals. “I was right, wasn’t I? You were turned-on, watching me with him.”

Light swallows, willing his lips not to tremble in shame. “Yes.”

“And that’s okay. You like how slutty I am, and I like being slutty for you.” He stands just enough to lick Light’s ear, then whisper into it: “And it _was_ for you.”

Light doesn’t say anything. What’s he going to do, _thank_ L? And yet there is something quietly surging through his body that feels like gratitude. Maybe peace.

“How are you feeling right now?”

“Like I would do anything for you.” Light’s voice is calm as he says words that should be impossible, and he realizes that he _is_ calm. He doesn’t feel numb, exactly, but like he’s been emptied out, and that the whole of his hollowed out body is meant to be L’s home.

“Good.” L stands and trails a finger along Light’s jaw-line. “Wait here.”

L comes back with black rope spun from raw silk, running the coils over Light’s naked shoulders, trailing it down the length of his torso. “Move your arms like this,” he says, deftly folding them behind Light’s back, one on top the other. The muscles in Light’s shoulders tug a little as L starts to wrap his arms in rope, but not unpleasantly so. “This is called a box tie. Tell me if it becomes more than you can stand.”

Light drops his head and averts his eyes. “Tighter, please.”

L pauses, then pulls the rope tighter, until Light’s shoulders are slightly thrown back and his chest is pushed out. Then, L rearranges Light’s legs like he’s posing a doll, spreading them wide, bent at the knee with feet tucked back against his ass. “Frogtie,” L calls it, fingers working the rope like a professional harpist might work strings.

When he’s finished, L runs his fingers over Light’s collarbones, tracing each and every one of his ribs. He’s touched Light in these exact same spots many times before, but never with such care, such reverence. When he lifts Light’s chin up so their eyes can meet, Light sees, for the first time, something worshipful in L’s gaze.

“My Kira,” he says. “Mine.” He cups Light’s cheek, his palm like the kiss of cool porcelain.

L tips Light’s body forward until his ass and bound feet are up in the air, his chest pressed flat to the mattress. He has to tilt his face to the side in order to breathe. “You’re okay, I’ve got you,” L says, his hands kneading Light’s hips. Light can’t see anything he’s doing, and that’s fine, for now. The pressure from the rope is making his joints and muscles ache, but it’s also holding him in, keeping him from falling apart.

L licks each one of Light’s toes, sucking them into his mouth and moaning like it’s warm caramel against his tongue instead of big, possibly-dirty toes. “I want to taste every part of you,” he says, his hand coming to rest on Light’s left buttock. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

A kiss presses against the cleft of Light’s ass, and of course L would put anything in his mouth -- anything, anything. But his tongue feels so good that Light uses what little movement he has to rock against that wet, probing mouth, his cock so hard that even the sensation of sheets brushing against it is like having holes drilled through every part of him, leaving even more room for L.

“ _More_ ,” Light manages to gasp, and L understands at once, pulling his face away and replacing his tongue with slippery fingers. L’s never had this, never had L reach up inside him, but now he wants nothing else. L spreads him with two twisting fingers, his free hand reaching around to stroke Light’s erection, his thumb passing over the sensitive tip and down the shaft.

“Oh god, _please_.”

“Shh.” L’s tone is gentle, honeyed with arousal. “I’m going to change our positions.”

And like some kind of magician he’s loosened Light’s leg-bindings and positioned his slim body under Light’s spread thighs, his own cock standing straight up, gripped in a slicked-up hand. “Lower yourself down on me,” he softly commands, his free hand holding Light’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over.

Light does as he’s told, dropping his hips until he feels L nudge against his opening, then slowly ease in. Inch by inch, Light settles down with all of his weight, unable to bite back a cry at the sensation of L filling him, pleasure and pain so intense that sparks seem to erupt at the back of his eyes.

“Okay?” L asks, squeezing Light’s shoulder. Dawn is starting to fill the room, casting shadows that further knit their bodies together.

“Yes.” Light starts to rock. Slow, careful movements at first, then faster, deeper. L is tending to Light’s cock with slow, ragged strokes, his own breath starting to skip and hitch.

Then L says something, a word, a chant Light doesn’t recognize. “What?” he gasps.

“Lawliet. L Lawliet. Say it.” L’s nails are digging into Light’s neck.

“L Lawliet.”

“My name. Say it when you come. I want to --” L groans. “-- hear you say it.”

“L Lawliet.” Light rolls the syllables on his tongue again and again, until his rocking becomes mindless bucking and his whole body shatters in orgasm.

“Yes,” L exhales, tipping his head back just enough to show the pale column of his throat, eyes never leaving Light’s as he comes deep inside him.

“Why?” Light says once the throbbing spirals have waned. He collapses forward, and he would crash into L if the other man’s reflexes weren’t so quick, hands catching Light’s shoulders and lifting him up. “Why did you tell me your name?”

“I wanted to hear what it sounded like on a god’s tongue,” he drawls.

“No, seriously.”

“Because.” L brushes Light’s hair away from his forehead. “You can’t use it to destroy me. You’d only destroy yourself if you did.”

It’s true, they both know it. L Lawliet is the only person that Light wants in the walls of his church, and Light is the only church L Lawliet has ever set foot in.

Light’s limbs, once unbound, are patterned with swirling red welts he finds oddly comforting. He can’t stop touching them, tracing their edges with his fingertips.

“Why did you do all this?” he asks, voice thick with wonder.

L lifts Light’s wrist, kisses one of the welts there. “To show you that giving up control is thrilling. That falling apart means I get to put you back together again.” His lips tug at Light’s mouth, and Light feels cherished. Exalted. “Plus --” L breaks the kiss and smirks. “-- how can a god revel in his own power if he doesn’t know the sensation of giving it up?”

“Mm,” Light says, unable to stop himself from smiling. “Just wait until I’ve recovered. I’m going to fuck Matsuda out of you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight.”

“That sounds fun.” L draws Light into his embrace and they lay back on the pillows, sweaty bodies tangled together, cooling even as the sun’s first rays fill the room.

“L,” Light whispers. “Say the poem. The one about stars.”

“Alright.” L nods against the top of Light’s head, then begins to recite:

 

_“Do you remember the falling stars_

_that like swift horses through the heavens raced_

_and suddenly leaped across the hurdles_

_of our wishes--do you recall? And we_

_did make so many! For there were countless numbers_

_of stars: each time we looked above we were_

_astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,_

_while in our hearts we felt safe and secure_

_watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,_

_knowing somehow we had survived their fall.”_

 

“Again,” Light says, when L’s finished.

“Again.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please please please leave a comment, or maybe a Kudos? XD Cheers!


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